


Breathe in, breathe out, let the human in

by Fiachra



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Body Horror, Cthulhu Mythos, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eldritch Eddie Kaspbrak, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Sort Of, Stanley Uris Has The Shining, Stanley Uris Lives, if you die where an eldritch horror also died that has to have Consequences right?, or something to that effect, struggling with your new species designation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:00:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23772703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiachra/pseuds/Fiachra
Summary: “You and It died at the same time.”Eddie’s heart stops, as if replaying the moment. When it starts again, it sounds like it’s playing a tattoo against his ribs.The Law of Conservation of Energy:, his brain supplies helpfully,energy can neither be created or destroyed; it can only be transformed or transferred from one form to another.The implication hangs heavy in the air, like smog. It’s just as suffocating.(You know the truth, he’s telling the truth, you’re not human anymore Eddie)Or: Eddie doesn't die, exactly, but he's not the same as he was before, and tries to understand what that means.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 21
Kudos: 141





	Breathe in, breathe out, let the human in

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea months ago before I had even seen the movies or read the book. And since I've done that and we're all stuck in quarantine, have this fic.
> 
> Title from the song Human by Of Monsters and Men, because I am extremely original.

He and It die together.

Eddie isn’t entirely sure _how_ he knows that, but he just knows. For a moment he can forget the pain so all-encompassing that it’s almost not painful, and the darkening of his vision as the world seems somehow lighter for a moment, losing a burden, letting lose a sigh of relief.

 _They did it_ , he thinks, and tries to smile. _Good._

When he finally slips away for good, his last thought is that he wishes he could have seen Richie at the end.

***

He wakes up.

 _Huh_ , he thinks, _I didn’t think that was supposed to happen._

All around him is darkness, inky black like the sea at night. Eddie imagines he can feel sand under his bare feet, a shallow layer of cool water pleasant on his skin.

He brings his hand to his chest, slowly, but it’s whole. He’s fine. Well, as fine as someone can be while dead.

“Eddie?”

He whirls, feeling water splash up his ankles. He doesn’t immediately recognise the dark-haired man before him, then it clicks.

“Stan?”

Eddie rushes forward and stops short before him. He doesn’t know if he can touch him like this, and he’s scared to try, scared that Stan will disappear.

Stan looks distraught.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t want you to die.”

“I, we didn’t want you to die either.”

Stan smiles, then it vanishes. “Neither did I, I couldn’t stop it, it was like I lost control.”

“It killed you.” Eddie states, and he knows that it is true. It’s like the truth is written on his bones.

(Well, the memory of his bones anyway)

“But It’s gone now,” Stan says, and he smiles, pride shining out of him. But Eddie frowns, feels that something is off.

( _Hmm_ , his bones hum, like they know something he doesn’t and don’t want to say it straight out)

Suddenly, Eddie wants nothing more than to be with his friends, all of them. They shouldn’t be apart, they _shouldn’t_.

That knowledge burns, somehow, and he reaches forward, grabs Stan’s hands.

“Stan-“

Then everything goes to black, again.

***

Eddie comes to on grass this time. More specifically, the edge of a flowerbed behind the townhouse. He groans as everything seems to spin for a few seconds, then settle down. He inhales deeply, taking in the warm, damp smell of the plants around him and-

Wait

Inhales?

Eddie sits bolt upright, gingerly pats his chest. It’s fine. His clothes are still filthy, still stained with his own blood, but the wound that did that is gone. He can feel his heart beating, his lungs pumping, maybe both of them going slightly too fast, but they’re going.

He’s alive. How?

“Is this a trick?” He says to no-one.

( _No_ , the answer comes from deep within him, and he knows it’s telling the truth)

Getting slowly to his feet, Eddie looks at his hands. He can see them perfectly clearly, too clearly for the time of night it must be now.

_What happened to me?_

Again, there’s that hum from deep within, less of a sound and more of a vibration. It feels like a rumble preceding a volcanic eruption, and he gets the vague sense that he could answer his question if he just listened closely.

_To what?_

The answer is so close, he can almost taste it, but he pulls away, knows even from glimpsing it out of the corner of his eye that it’s too big to deal with right now. Just like how he feels like his skin is too tight, and if he flexed his shoulders just right he could extend… wings?

No. Eddie just came back from the dead, apparently, he can only focus on one weird thing at once. He takes a few deep breaths, calming breaths, and waits for his heart to slow down.

(He very deliberately does not focus on the soft thump his trainers made as they hit the ground as he calmed down. As if he had been floating a few inches above the earth.)

Eddie paces back and forth for a few minutes once he’s got some sense of composure back. He knows his friends are in there, but how can he just prance in?

_“Surprise guys! I had a hole in my chest but I’m fine now! Sorry about the scare!”_

That wouldn’t work, he needs to think about this rationally, he has to-

The door that opens onto a small deck, not far from where he’s standing, creaks open and someone walks out. Eddie can see the glow as a cigarette is lit up, sees the exhale of smoke in the outdoor lamp.

_Richie_

Eddie backs further into the patch of shadow he’s in, tries to herd his scattered thoughts together. He’s trying frantically to get one in particular under control when he hears a sob. Richie has collapsed in on himself, hand holding the cigarette down at his side, the other covering his face. His shoulders shudder.

Thoughts of a rational approach to this go out the window. Fuck it.

Eddie sucks in a breath a disconcertingly calm part of him says he doesn’t need, but it feels good anyway, and steps into the light.

“Richie?”

Richie doesn’t scream, or shout. Instead he lowers his hand, and just stares. It’s when Eddie takes a step forward that he reacts as expected.

“No!” He yells, leaping back from the deck’s railing, “No! You’re not Eddie! Eddie’s dead!”

“Richie, it’s me! I promise it’s me! I don’t know how I’m here, but I’m okay, I’m sorry.”

Richie is shaking his head, muttering “no” under his breath, over and over. When he speaks Eddie feels it’s as much to himself as it is to him.

“No, this is some sort of trick, we must have fucked up, because Eddie is dead, we left him, I left him…”

Eddie feels like he was slapped in the face. Richie has never sounded that broken, that sad. He hates it.

“No, no Richie,” he takes a step forward, hates that the deck is slightly elevated so Richie is even taller than usual. “I _was_ dead, you didn’t leave me, it wasn’t your fault. It’s really me, I promise.”

Richie is crying now, and Eddie vaguely aware of his own eyes itching and burning.

“It’s _me_ , Rich, we used to share ice cream, I wouldn’t do that with anyone but you, and we fought over that stupid hammock, and you loved music, and _Star Wars_ , and you always knew you would go on to do more, and you’re smarter than any adult gave you credit for, and-“

He stops because what he wants to say next seems too big, too important, to just blurt out now.

( _Wait_ , his bones say, _wait_ )

Richie has moved closer again, warily, and when he doesn’t make a move to do more Eddie slowly steps up onto the deck. Richie stands there, looking ready to run, forgotten cigarette smouldering between his fingers. Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Come on asshole, it’s me, I haven’t tried to rip your head off yet.”

Richie snorts, and that seems to shake him out of whatever trance he was stuck in.

“Eds?”

“Don’t-“

Eddie doesn’t get to finish, because Richie has launched forward to grab him in a crushing hug, sobbing into Eddie’s shoulder.

***

Convincing the others is not as easy.

There is a lot of yelling, mainly from Richie, one arm draped protectively around Eddie’s shoulders.

Bill and Richie snap back and forth at each other to the point Eddie fears a repeat of the argument years ago.

“It’s not It!” Richie growls, again. “It’s gone! We know it is! We felt it!”

( _Is it though? Is it truly gone? Or is some part of it closer than ever?_ )

Eddie turns his gaze to Mike, to Ben, pleading, please, please understand, both of you know more about this than anyone, please-

“I think,” Ben says slowly, his soft voice nevertheless cutting through the other’s arguing, “I think it’s Eddie, remember how, how _bad_ you’d feel whenever It was around? I don’t feel that.”

Eddie could kiss him. He smiles instead, and Ben smiles back.

“B-b-but w-what if w-w-we’re wrong?” Bill says, looking frantic, and anger swells in Eddie’s chest. His own, familiar anger, but tinged with something more, something _bigger_ , more ferocious.

He’s so tired, he’s filthy, he wants to rest and why _won’t they let him?_

“I’m _me!_ ” he snarls, and everyone jumps back, hearing an undercurrent of _something else_ in his voice. “I’m your friend Eddie, and I fucking died, and Stan was there and now I’m back here so if we could all stop-“

“Eddie,” Richie says, and something in his tone makes him pause, “You, you’re-“

Eddie looks down at himself, and starts. He can see all his blood vessels, they’re outlined in gold, just under his skin. He can see each pulse of blood, can feel it intimately. He feels trapped, suddenly, too small-

“Eddie,” Richie says again, but this is a tone he recognises. This is the asthma voice, the one he used when Eddie got too worked up, when everything seemed to be going at a thousand miles an hour-

“Eddie, breathe.”

He does, and as he exhales, his skin feels like it fits him again. The glow under his skin fades away, the humming buzz in his ears dies away, like he turned the volume of the radio down.

Everyone is staring at him. He hates it.

“Guys,” his voice wavers, he feels like a kid again. “Guys, I don’t know what happened to me, but it _is_ me, I swear.”

“I believe you,” Bev says suddenly, and then Bill nods. They all jump when Mike’s phone rings, Richie, who had replaced his arm around Eddie, digging his fingers into his shoulder.

Mike, who had already looked shell shocked from the moment Eddie had walked in, looks even more so.

“It’s Stan.”

***

Their talk with Stan had been brief, but with the promise to talk more in the morning. When pressed he said he had just woken up back at his home in Georgia, nearly scaring his wife to death.

He is more forthcoming with Eddie, who’s now sitting on the edge of his bed, knees drawn up to his chest. He should have felt more nervous about being in the room where he had been stabbed, but he knew he was safe, somehow.

“I think I have an idea what happened,” Stan says, calm but sounding exhausted.

“Stan-“

“No, Eddie, we don’t have to talk about it in too much detail now, but I have to, I have to say _something_ now, please?”

When Eddie doesn’t reply, he keeps going.

“You brought me down to the sewers, when you brought the token,” he adds quickly, as if fearing a rebuke.

“I know what happened down there, that’s why, I think.”

Stan takes a deep breath, and Eddie wonders if it’s the connection that makes it sound as shaky as it does.

“You brought me back.”

“We don’t know that,” Eddie says.

“Yes, I do, I know it, and I think you do too. You brought us both back.”

Eddie is silent, mind roiling. Finally, he speaks.

“I can’t do that, Stan. Humans can’t-“

“I know.”

They’re both silent for so long Eddie goes to end the call, then Stan speaks again, softer this time.

“You and It died at the same time.”

Eddie’s heart stops, as if replaying the moment. When it starts again, it sounds like it’s playing a tattoo against his ribs.

 _The Law of Conservation of Energy:_ , his brain supplies helpfully, _energy can neither be created or destroyed; it can only be transformed or transferred from one form to another_.

The implication hangs heavy in the air, like smog. It’s just as suffocating.

( _You know the truth, he’s telling the truth, you’re not human anymore Eddie_ )

“Stan-“ Eddie chokes.

“You’re okay, I know you’ll be okay, I _know_.”

“I’m scared.” Eddie whispers. He doesn’t think he has to say what of.

“I know,” and Stan sounds like he does, that’s the only reason why Eddie isn’t bristling at false pity.

They hang up soon after, and suddenly the empty room seems more threatening than the sewers did.

***

Which is how he finds himself outside Richie’s door, clutching some pyjamas and toiletries.

“Can I stay here?” he blurts before Richie can open his mouth, “the other room, I-“

Richie blinks a few times, and then steps aside, waving him inside with an exaggerated gesture.

A hot shower feels good, Eddie was somehow scared it wouldn’t anymore, now that he’s-

(Don’t think about it, not yet)

He stands in front of the mirror afterwards, still a little steamed from the shower. He looks normal, he stills recognises himself. There’s a scar on his cheek from the stab wound, and on his chest. He can see, when he leans forward to inspect the former, that there are flecks of silver in his eyes now, flecks he was sure were never there before. They seem to shift sometimes, like drops of mercury, and are just as bright.

Richie is lying on the bed when he leaves the ensuite, scrolling through his phone. He looks up when he hears Eddie and smiles. Soft, trusting.

How? How can he do that when Eddie is

( _Eater of worlds, murderer_ )

His friend. Eddie is his _friend_.

“I must say, for an undead dude, you still look pretty alright, are you going to suck my brains out through my ears or something when I sleep?”

“Why would I, there’s nothing there, wouldn’t be worth the effort.”

Richie cackles, and the universe seems to shift towards normality again for a moment.

“Eddie gets off a good one!” he crows, “only took him being resurrected.”

Richie stops cackling abruptly when Eddie sits on the other side of the bed. When Eddie lies down on his side facing him, he continues to scroll on his phone, totally rigid like he’s trying (and failing) to fade into the background, until he sighs and rolls to face Eddie.

Past Eddie, Present Eddie realises suddenly, would have also been nervous at this innocuous activity, but those concerns seem so frivolous now, so small, as if they belonged to someone else. He doesn’t know if that’s a normal reaction to escaping death or a supernatural one.

A lot of things seem murky to him right now, but some things are much clearer, curling up on Richie’s bed being the right thing to do is one of them.

But Richie is still nervous, he can feel it, a heavy oil slick coating his shoulders. But Richie doesn’t seem scared of Eddie, exactly, and a little bit of mental poking at the nervous energy surrounding them (Eddie _definitely_ thinks this must be a new ability) and just looking at how Richie is curled in on himself reveals that he’s scared of himself.

Suddenly it snaps into clarity in Eddie’s mind, his complicated feelings and Richie’s extrapolated ones snapping together like the final piece of a puzzle. He shuffles closer on the mattress, watching Richie looking back at him, with a strange mixture of worry and guardedness and, and-

Love. Hope.

Past Eddie would have stopped to think about this. Past Eddie would have done a full risk assessment of what he’s about to do.

Present Eddie doesn’t.

Present Eddie has a newfound appreciation for seizing the day, for not letting chances of happiness pass by.

He pecks Richie very quickly, on the lips, and pulls back.

“I know,” he says, and he does. He doesn’t think that’s due to whatever happened to him. He thinks it’s due to knowing his friend. The human way.

***

It is remarkable what the human ( _?_ ) brain can get used to, given the chance.

It’s been months now, and Eddie is fine, generally.

Of course, there had been the panic attacks, the episodes in the shower when he’d cried so hard no sound could get of his mouth, but in between, he just was.

“I don’t think we have an alternative,” Stan had said when he had remarked on this to him, the only one who had a semblance of an idea of what had happened. “You either have to deal with it and accept it, or you don’t. You don’t have much else of a choice but to deal with it.”

Stan rubbing his scarred wrists clearly said there was a choice, but not one they wanted to talk about.

(Could he even make that choice? Would he need silver, like the slugs they made as children? Can a, whatever he is, destroy itself?)

***

Stan can see the most out of all of them, excepting Eddie. Bev and Richie can see a little too, courtesy of the Deadlights. Eddie knows the three of them can sometimes see the things he sees when he looks at his own reflection, can see their eyes track the movement of _something_ , a wing, an arm, some other limb, over his shoulder.

They are the three he goes to when he needs to be held down in his own body, prevented from flying off… somewhere. The stars? The space between them? Even worse, Derry? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t really want to find out.

They hold his hand, talk to him. The urge fades (along with the not-quite-there impressions of other limbs). They smile at him, and he smiles back. His favourite smile, the one with no extra teeth.

(He had been with Bev to support her when she was at the court for her divorce. He had seen Tom coming closer, malevolence clinging to him like an aura. Eddie had bared his teeth, just a little, a low growl leaking between his ( _fangs?_ ) and Tom had blanched, was meek throughout the whole thing. The vicious part of Eddie that was always there, along with something else, and been smug for days.)

***

The Turtle appears in dreams sometimes. A corpse bigger than comprehension, dwarfing nearby galaxies. It drifts there, silent, in the cold vacuum of space. Its huge bulk should take up weight, presence, but it just looks… sad. There’s nothing there anymore. This is a husk. A space, a niche, that must be filled.

Those are somehow the worst dreams, Eddie says to Stan when they meet in the weird liminal space between sleep and wakefulness, still linked by whatever Eddie did. Stan takes his hand, comforts him without using words.

***

His own divorce went smoothly, Myra not putting up nearly as much resistance as he expected. She had looked at him warily, like how you might look at a venomous snake you’d just uncovered in your garden. Harmless. For the time being.

They had stayed together because the other had represented safety. Eddie doesn’t know what he is now, but he doesn’t think safe is one of them.

Richie doesn’t look at him like he’s scared of him, which is good. He doesn’t think he could have stood Richie being nervous of him when they live together, when they love each other. Most of the time they don’t really talk about it, and that suits Eddie fine.

***

Sex with Richie is somewhat of an ordeal at first.

Not just for the normal, “repressed gay trying to find his way at forty” reasons, or Richie asking if since he was an eldritch Lovecraftian being now did they have to incorporate tentacles into whatever they did, which resulted in Eddie yelling at him while Richie laughed, entirely too pleased with himself.

It was an ordeal because he felt so much.

He had always felt a lot, always had issues with controlling his emotions, but this just seemed unfair. He had always felt so much, felt like he was burning up from the inside, like he was being pulled apart by the force of his emotions, and now that just felt far too literal for his liking.

And

And it was an ordeal because he had hurt Richie.

Not badly, not on purpose, but enough.

They had been kissing, shirts discarded, building up to something more but with no rush. Eddie had been _happy_ , so happy, and he could feel that bubbling up through his entire being, pure contentment building and building and suddenly he realised, cold realisation crashing down, that it was too much for him, it was overflowing, and then Richie had yelped and Eddie had thrown himself back.

He had been holding Richie’s hip, one hand splayed over his heart. There were red impressions of his hands there now, like he’d burnt him. His skin was dimming to yellow gold, but he could imagine the molten, blaring white it had been.

“Fuck! Richie! Oh Jesus I’m so sorry-“

Richie leaned forward, trying to take Eddie’s hand, trying to comfort even when Eddie had hurt him, how could he-

“No!” Eddie curls in on himself, squeezes his eyes shut, “I’ll hurt you, stay back.”

“No, you won’t.”

“I just did!” Eddie snarled, and Richie flinched, just a little. Just enough to hurt.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Richie continued, ignoring Eddie’s disbelieving grunt, “you just startled me, it feels fine I swear.”

“How can you be so forgiving about this?” Eddie pressed.

“Because you’ve never deliberately hurt me, I know you never, ever would. And this was an accident, they happen.”

“It’s an accident that happened because I’m a monster Rich.”

Richie’s eyes hardened.

“No, no you’re not.”

His words were spoken quietly, but with authority. Like he knew for certain that what he said was true. Like by speaking it he could dispel that idea completely, neutralise any part of Eddie that might think otherwise.

“You’re different now, yeah, different in a way I can barely understand, but you’re still _you_. You’re still kind and caring but you take no shit, and you’re so full of feelings you literally glow.” He was smiling and had inched closer to Eddie while he was talking.

“And, and the alternative to you being like this is you being dead, and I’d rather take a thousand burns, I’d rather go blind because you shine too brightly than that.”

( _This is true, you know it is_ )

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Eddie says, rubbing his eyes.

Richie smiles, and holds out a hand, tentatively. Eddie looks down at his own, scrutinises them for any hint of anything inhuman.

“I trust you, you won’t hurt me,” Richie gently picks up Eddie’s hands, touches his palms reverently.

“I was happy,” Eddie blurts out, tearing his gaze away from Richie tracing patterns on his palms, “I was really happy.”

“Well I’d certainly hope so.”

“But my happiness hurt you. My, my love hurt you.”

Richie said nothing for a few seconds, considering.

“Love hurts, sometimes. But, if I’ve got this correctly, this happens because you feel so much that you can’t keep it in, which is super flattering by the way, so what if you don’t try to hide it all the time? Just let some of it out when it’s just us, like venting some pressure.”

“I think, I think I can do that.”

Richie had insisted they watch _Stardust_ for “research” later, and let Eddie rest against his chest, had kissed his forehead when Eddie let himself relax, let his love for Richie illuminate his skin softly from within.

***

“Can you turn into other things?” Richie asks suddenly between bites of a cereal marketed towards a demograph at least twenty years younger than Richie himself.

“What?”

“Remember how It could shape shift? Can you do that too?”

It’s probably a good sign that Richie can bring It up, bring up what It could do. Eddie knows about the werewolf, knows what it meant. Then again, maybe that’s why he’s asking.

“I don’t know, I haven’t tried.”

“If you can, you should turn into a small yappy dog, like a Pomeranian, that would be really funny.”

Eddie had snorted, and Richie had grinned, no trace of fear anywhere.

Eddie has tried. He knows he could turn into a Pomeranian, or any dog, or anything he wanted, should he feel like it. He can only reveal this to Richie once, and he intends to make it count.

He remembers the night he had tested that ability, standing in front of their bathroom mirror, looking at his own reflection. The restlessness under his skin which had woken him had faded to the normal dull background level, sated after Eddie had allowed his form to change. If he squints, he thinks he can see the shapes of all the possibilities waiting for his call.

Good things. He would only become good things. A small dog if it made Richie laugh. A hummingbird if it made Stan smile. Nothing else.

His reflection is shaking slightly, and it takes Eddie a second to realise it’s because he’s trembling. He looks at himself, pale human skin, _his_ skin, his eyes, _“big and deep enough to drown galaxies babe”_ Richie had joked, perhaps not realising how close to the truth that was.

What was it Mike had said?

_“All living things must abide by the laws of the shape they inhabit.”_

Eddie had always believed himself to be a decent person, maybe less so when he forgot who he was. But he tried. And now with his friends back he tried even harder, ferociously threw himself into the challenge, refusing to deal back anymore grief and anger and hurt into the world than he absolutely had to. He had experienced enough for a lifetime. No one else should have to.

He was a good person. And if he wasn’t one now, he would be.

_“All living things must abide by the laws of the shape they inhabit.”_

If he stayed in the shape of Eddie Kaspbrak, he would be.

***

Eddie sees Its true form in dreams sometimes.

He recoils, even now, human instinct still his primary motivator. Even now that he can safely perceive It. He wonders, idly, the same way you can wonder what would happen if you turned your steering wheel to the right when driving on a bridge over a roaring river, what his is. What it would be if he let go-

( _But he_ is _It now, isn’t he? Or similar? Would it be the same?_ )

(No! He’s not the same, he’s not. He refuses to be.)

Then he jerks to alertness, those _other_ senses and eyes and things he has no words for slamming shut as he gasps as if he’s stopped breathing-

(Maybe he had, he didn’t think he strictly _had_ to now, it was, like many things, a habit.)

-his whole body tensing, ready for the worst, despite knowing he doesn’t have to fear anything on this planet ever again and it’s-

Richie.

Richie who had kicked him in his sleep. Richie who’s snoring and has drool on his chin.

The impulse to let go fades away as he wraps around Richie with his human arms (two) and legs (also two) and maybe if he concentrates extra shadowy limbs that don’t exist on this plane but can be used to wrap around Richie and keep him safe anyway.

Richie likes this shape best of all. His shape. His own. No one else’s. Eddie knows Richie would love him regardless, knows it because Richie tells him so, but he worships his human body-

( _Small, so infinitely small compared to what you could have_ )

-With the fervour people would a god.

( _You could have that, if you wanted_ )

(I don’t, I won’t claim that)

Richie prefers his own body, the body that was always Eddie Kaspbrak’s and nothing else’s. So that’s the form Eddie prefers too.

***

The topic of mortality had hit Eddie like a train.

They had been relaxing, it was the weekend, there was nowhere pressing to be. Richie had stood up from his seat sprawled on the couch, and stretched, groaning, and something cracked.

“I’m getting old Eds!”

Bam.

Eddie had frozen, mid reaching for his tea.

_I’m getting old Eds_

_It’s been here for millions of years_

_Millions of-_

The next thing he was aware of was lying in their bed, curled in on himself as he tried to remember breathing exercises. He wasn’t sure if he had run in here or if he had warped space around him to get here, which he could theoretically do now because he wasn’t, he wasn’t-

Millions _of years_

Eddie heard the creak of the mattress springs as Richie lowered himself onto it behind him, and Eddie rolled towards him, pressing himself as close to his chest as he could. Listened to the whoosh of air in his lungs, the steady thump of his heart under a mark Eddie had put there.

( _For how much longer? Are creatures like you destined to be alone?_ )

“I don’t want to be alone.”

“That’s why I’m here,” the vibrations of Richie’s voice rumbled in Eddie’s chest. If he could he would etch them on his bones. “What’s up? Was it something I said?”

(Yes. No.)

“I don’t want to be alone,” Eddie repeated, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You won’t be, I’m here, I’ll always-“ Richie trailed off, he had always been quick, and Eddie could almost feel the moment when he put it together.

“Oh, Eddie, I-“

“I don’t want to lose you again.” Eddie could feel tears now, burning behind his eyes like molten silver. Maybe they were.

Richie tightened his grip around him, pulling him even closer.

“You won’t, you _won’t_ , if, if that happens, I’ll always be with you, I’ll haunt the shit out of you, I’ll cling so tight you won’t be able to get rid of me for anything.

“You’ll do good, I know you will, you won’t be alone, because, because you’ll be helping people, and you’ll be amazing, even if you have to yell at them sometimes.”

Eddie let out a soft puff of laughter, smiled when he felt Richie’s lips graze the top of his head.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

( _I would rearrange the stars for you, I would move galaxies to keep you happy, the universe better not test me_ )

Eddie started idly tracing Richie’s bicep as he let his awareness stretch out and in, scanning for signs of the passage of time. He had fixed a small plague blockage near Richie’s heart that would have been a problem in a few years by the time Richie started speaking again.

Perhaps he should go back and become a doctor. His work was easier than ever now, being able to see the threads of possibilities if one so desired helped with assessing risks, but maybe he could do more.

“Hey,”

Richie’s voice was soft, and when Eddie looked up at him he was smiling, but it was sad.

“We don’t need to think about this now, okay? It’s not an immediate concern.”

Eddie sighed. A woman walking outside their apartment tugged her coat closer against a sudden breeze.

“I know, just, I don’t know how this works, what it means.”

Richie pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I know, but we’ll figure it out when we need to. But I will ask, if I start ageing before you, can you at least pretend to be older? I don’t want to be a gross old man with a trophy twink.”

Eddie hit him with a pillow, Richie laughed, everything was normal again. For the moment. For their new standard of normal.

***

Sex is easier now, since their talk, but sometimes it’s still too much.

Richie is pressing him into the mattress, muffling groans in his neck, when Eddie feels it. Feels his being pulsing, thrumming, energy and power building up and up, and suddenly he has a vision of Richie, eyes rolled back, blood dripping from his nose-

(Like the Deadlights)

( _That was me_ )

(No, I _saved_ him)

“Stop! Close your eyes!”

Richie does immediately, rolling off and to the side as Eddie scoots back against the headboard, the buzzing in his ears swelling.

(Normal, human, normal, _human, human, human_ )

“Can I look now?”

Richie’s voice calms him, pulls him back.

(Human. Human. _Human_.)

“Is the _Raiders of the Lost Arc_ tribute done?” Richie says from beside him, one hand comically clapped over his eyes, “Is my face going to melt like a Nazi’s? Who absolutely should have their faces melted, for the record.”

Eddie blinks, and looks down at his hands. Nothing, no glowing, nothing extraordinary. He’s okay.

“It’s okay,” he says, voice hoarse, “it’s okay.”

Richie peeks out between his fingers, then stretches out to pull Eddie close, right against his chest.

_Lub dub. Lub dub. Lub dub._

_Human. Human. Human._

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Richie says airily. “I’m used to people going supernova when I fuck, my dick is just so mind-blowing, just like-“ he mimes his head exploding.

Eddie laughs, then suddenly he’s drifting, being yanked from Richie like when this whole fucked up existence began. He cries out, scrambles to cling to Richie like a shipwreck victim would driftwood, then tries to back away as he feels his skin warm.

But Richie’s arms encircle him, pull him closer.

“Shh, Eddie, shh. You’re safe, I have you.”

Eddie still feels very far away, clinging to those words as he floats in the strange empty space his sense of being goes to sometimes, but they’re slipping from his grip oh God oh fuck he’s falling he’s floating he’s-

_Eddie, love, come home. You always knew the way home, come home._

He can follow that. He can. He pulls himself back, out of this void, hand over hand, slowly but steadily, using Richie’s love as a lifeline.

“There you are, I knew you could do it, you’re okay, I have you, I have you.”

Eddie sobs, feeling secure, grounded, in Richie’s arms. Suddenly he’s not whatever he became, he’s just Eddie, weeping into Richie’s chest.

Home. Richie is home.

He doesn’t know what he is now, is still grappling with the _thing_ that now sits inside him, and sometimes seems too big for him to handle. But if Richie is here, if Richie is home, if he can come back to Richie, then everything will be fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Eddie suddenly becomes even more terrifying when he visits Mike in Florida:
> 
> M: Oh my God are you okay???
> 
> E: Oh don't worry, the blood isn't mine, an alligator tried to have a go at me but I'm fine
> 
> M: O-okay? Do you want breakfast?
> 
> E: Nah, I'm good. I already ate
> 
> M: fear.jpg
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Feel free to yell at me on Tumblr (@consultingzoologist) or join me on my curiosity voyage into the wilds of Twitter (@zoorambles)


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